Only Human
by cannibalBBQ
Summary: Life & Death in Metropolis.
1. Chapter 1

Only Human

1.

Lex Luther sat, alone, surveying the city of Metropolis beneath him.

The sun was setting behind the sprawling skyline, the sky's shades of tangerine and blue growing darker behind the silhouettes of high-rise buildings. Buildings constructed because of him. Jobs created because of him. Livelihoods, families... All indebted to him.

And yet despite all he'd done for these people, these thankless peons, he would never be heralded as a champion by them.

Despite the enormous wealth he'd amassed. Despite the immense power he'd ascertained over the years of his life. He realized, spitefully, that it didn't matter to the human cattle beneath him that one of their own could achieve as much as he had.

They didn't want to win. They wanted to live in the shadow of a winner. Someone they could safely resign themselves to admiring, someone they could write off as being gifted. Someone that was born that way, so that they would never have to suffer the pain of trying to better themselves; never have to feel the hurt of trying to rise above.

And yet as philosophically different as he was to the masses – as _superior_ as he was – Luther was now being painfully reminded that he had more in common with the average schmuck than the average schmuck deserved.

Lex Luthor was, ultimately, human.

And Lex Luthor was dying.

Lex took another sip of whiskey. Whiskey that cost more than a month's rent for most citizens in Gotham; from a crystal glass that cost more than most people's car. Prices created by a faceless marketing team somewhere – no doubt, employed by him. A roomful of cheap ties and business dresses, determining the value of trinkets, making sure they're expensive enough to impress the stupid.

It was these dumb, bland sheep that parted their hair and fixed their collars to work for him from Monday to Friday. The same uncouth reprobates that then squandered their earnings on the weekend, desperate to purchase status; scurrying to buy respect.

These simpletons, clamouring to achieve a fraction of what Lex had.

And yet, who do they celebrate? These simple lemmings, striving for mediocrity - who do they look up to?

The entrepreneur that made Metropolis the business capital of the world? The self-made billionaire? The embodiment of the American dream?

No.

They choose the alien.

They _idolize_ him.

He, who they could never dream to compete with. _It, _which they could never strive to emulate.

Lex took another sip, sighed, and watched as lights started flickering on in the skyscrapers throughout the urban expanse that lay before him. To the east, he could see the girders of the construction site for the new 30 story office building being erected. Offices needed because of jobs he created. It dawned on him that he wouldn't be alive to see the building's construction finished.

He rose and walked out on the balcony. The last rays of sunlight were being swallowed by darkness.

Lex surveyed his kingdom. Few men in history had accomplished what he had, and he'd done it all without ever needing to do something as barbaric as drawing a sword. As much as he admired the likes of Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar, he wondered if they'd ever have been able to thrive as he had in the 21st century. Great leader's though they were, they never had to contend with social media, with unions… with _him._

And it was this kinship he felt with great rulers that gave birth to his final plan. Just as the Pharaohs were buried with all their earthly possessions, so too would the great Lex Luthor.

And after all, Metropolis was his.

Lex Luthor finished his drink, then tossed aside the crystal glass. He watched it shatter into dozens of fragments. Just seconds ago, it had been a valuable part of an expensive set. It had belonged somewhere. It had been beautiful. It had worth, it meant something. Now, it was junk. Its absence amongst the set the only thing left to define it.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Kal-El sat back watching the sun set, his feet dangling over the edge of the cloud. He closed his eyes and soaked in the last of the days light. If what he suspected was true, he would hear it any moment now.

He opened his eyes again, and scanned the city below. On the roads beneath him, cars headed home after a long day's work. The people who made Metropolis the vibrant city it was were loosening their ties and letting their hair down as they journeyed back to their sanctuary; back to their loved ones. Back home.

The thought made Superman smile. As he sat perched on the cloud, slowly drifting over the eastern-most boroughs of Metropolis, the Kryptonian marvelled at the explosion of life beneath him. In a building beneath him, he could hear a young girl shouting with excitement as her mother came home from work, rushing into their apartment with a birthday cake. Across town, a father and his two sons were laughing as they tried to push start their truck.

Clark had found a whole new appreciation for these people in the last few hours. In spite of the absolute random chaos that made up the world around them; despite the guaranteed uncertainty of life, all of these folks dared to love and laugh and live. Kal could walk on the sun… he'd been to Atlantis… but even with his superhuman ability, he had no idea if he was up for the task that lay ahead of him. The Kryptonian in him knew that what he & Lois were doing was illogical; plain and simple.

Until today, life had seemed pretty straight forward. He'd finished school in Smallville, moved to the big city, got a job, and every now and then he saved the world. But now, as his whole world was about to be irrevocably changed, he was seeing everything in a whole new light. His position in the world, not just as Superman, but as Clark Kent, had taken on a whole new level of responsibility. People were going to be depending on him more than ever – he couldn't just race off into battle at the drop of a hat anymore… could he?

He knew Superman was still needed. Superman would _always _be needed. But if he was right, there were two people that needed Clark even more. But could he ever just stop being Superman? Was it even a possibility to just walk away? The obligation Kal felt to the people of Earth was a mighty one, but he himself felt more human now than he ever had before.

He closed his eyes again and listened for it. It hadn't happened yet.

Kal sighed. Now more than ever he felt the weight of the sacrifice his Kryptonian parents had made. He looked up to the stars, past the sun, well into the next galaxy. He could _just _make out Koron and Mithin, Krypton's two moons. Debris left over from a dead world. A sharp pang of grief cut him deeper than it had in years - these were the same two moons his parents (and grandparents, and great grandparents…) had all looked up at. As he sat floating above the city, hearing only the laughter of families around him, he thought of his birth parents… of the chance they'd taken, of the desperate hope they must have felt within their hearts in their last living moments.

Clark sighed.

Then it happened.

Across the city, near Clark's apartment, a deafening explosion, heard only by the Kryptonian. The thunderous roar of a heart beating for the very first time.

He was right. Lois was pregnant.

2


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Alfred was woken by the sound of shattering glass.

He immediately leapt out of bed, grabbed the baseball bat he left by his bedroom door, and stealthily snuck downstairs to the main lobby at the entrance of Wayne Manor. The front door was wide open, swinging wildly in the storm. A fierce wind howled through the corridor and rain poured in, soaking the marble floors.

Alfred immediately noticed the muddy tracks leading deeper into the house. "One person, possibly wounded" he thought to himself, as he judged the unsteady trail and knocked over furniture that led down the hallway. His suspicion was confirmed not three feet further down the hall, as one bloody handprint smeared along the wallpaper.

The light was on in the kitchen. As Alfred crept slowly towards the room, he could see the stumbling shadow of his unexpected guest beneath the crack of the door. Stealth was not this invader's strong suit – he was making all manner of ruckus as he oafishly raided through the Wayne family's cabinets. Alfred could hear the sink running; it almost (but not quite) drowned out the sound of the laboured, struggling breathing of the midnight visitor. If this was a hostile visit, Alfred knew he could take out the intruder before the unwanted guest even knew there was someone else in the room. Judging by the amount of blood that the person had lost, the difficult part would be making sure they'd wake up again.

Alfred reached out now and held the door handle. He took a second to pause and prepare himself for whatever awaited him on the other side of the door, and in that brief instance a calamitous crash came from within the kitchen. Alfred burst in to the room, bat raised and ready to swing, and was greeted with the sight of the intruder, passed out and face down on the cold kitchen tiles. The sink was now overflowing and the steady stream of water diluted the pool of blood, spreading it out across the floor; swallowing all the spilled items that were strewn across the room.

Alfred knew he had to act fast or this man would die right there on the floor. He dropped the bat and raced to the young man's side, turning him over carefully so he wouldn't drown in his own blood.

As dramatic as the night had quickly become, Alfred was not prepared for the shock he got when he saw the intruder's face.

It was the owner of the mansion.

It was Bruce Wayne.

And he'd been dead for almost ten years.


End file.
